


Ignite

by SageMasterofSass



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Implied pedophilia, Jealousy, Kinda sorta hurt/comfort, M/M, Prompt Fill, but it's only implied i promise!, but theres no sex you get the idea, honestly what even are these tags im so sorry, just a heads up that its in there, more than implied, neither of these pirates are good with emotions, uh...well, weeps im sorry its so late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7689175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jealousy never was an attractive emotion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ignite

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Dee218](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee218/pseuds/Dee218) in the [pirate_prompts_2016](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/pirate_prompts_2016) collection. 



> OKAY. THIS TOOK FOREVER AND I'M SORRY. 
> 
> So much has happened and is going on in my life right now and I just really haven't been writing like I should be. All those wonderful prompts y'all send me are sitting unanswered in my inbox right now and I have another claim I haven't filled, honestly there's just so much to do. But I present to you this finished piece! Originally, it was supposed to be funny/fluffy. Then I started writing and it got emotional. Then I planned for it have a sex scene. That really didn't happen, although it's kind of mentioned in the end. Regardless, I hope y'all enjoy the end product.

Tortuga isn’t anything like Nassau.

Silver hadn’t realized exactly how…civilized Nassau is when compared to other pirate ports, and considering he’d thought Nassau coarse and vulgar, that’s saying something. Not that the ports don’t also hold more freedom than is known in the rest of the world, but that freedom does to seem to come at a bit of a cost.

Namely, manners and decency.

But hey, Silver isn’t complaining. Much.

Tortuga is crowded and loud, the streets dirty, the buildings falling apart but still diligently holding together nonetheless. It’s an interesting place, made even more so by the new, unfamiliar faces everywhere. Very few, if any, of these men recognize Silver and Flint on sight, which is definitely something Silver isn’t used to anymore. Once upon a time disappearing amongst a crowd was an everyday occurrence, relying on anonymity to get him through life. That had changed roughly around the same time he met Flint.

The tavern is identifiable by the sheer noise of its occupants, and the two prostitutes standing in the doorway beckoning men closer. Captain and quartermaster aren’t the only two who came ashore, and several members of the crew walk in a vaguely protective circle around them. Squeezing their group through the bottleneck of the doorway- guarded by too bare breasts and heavy perfume –breaks up their formation.

The crew goes straight for the bar, and Flint jerks his head towards a tiny table in the very back. There’s a man asleep on it, but Flint doesn’t blink twice at grabbing him by the back of his jacket and shoving him off. He stumbles sleepily to his feet, says something that sounds vaguely like a cuss, and wanders away without too much of a fight. The entire event doesn’t turn a single head, and well it shouldn’t; there are much more interesting, violent things going on elsewhere in the room.

Silver just cocks an eyebrow, but ultimately claims one of the chairs. He sighs in faint relief as he sets his bad leg out in front of him, straightening his knee and finally taking his weight off of the boot. It garners him a certain kind of look from Flint, the one that says he thinks Silver is an idiot and really shouldn’t have joined him on this particular outing.

Hah. Fat chance.

One of the crew, Logan, brings over a couple of tankards, tipping his head to both of them as he sets them on the table and then goes back to the other men at the bar. Silver sniffs at his, nose wrinkling at the frankly alarming strength of the alcohol. Flint just lifts his to his lips without taking his eyes off the room, taking a long, hard drink. After, he does spare the glass a disgusted look, but he doesn’t cough the way Silver probably would have, just takes a more measured drink the next time.

Pirates, Silver swears. He’s no stranger to liquor himself but most pirates seem to have gullets of iron the way they down the stuff. And of the most vile quality too. How in the hell someone of, if not high-class than at least a class more respectable than fucking pirate, got used to it is beyond him. Then again Flint has some seriously strong will so maybe it’s not that surprising in the end. He probably just spent one night guzzling the strongest, most disgusting drinks he could find, and was perfectly good after that. Except for maybe a truly horrendous hangover.

Flint’s calm, even tones draws Silver out of his musings.

“What do you think?”

Silver blinks at him for a moment, before following his captain’s gaze and glancing around. Right, this isn’t just a fun outing, not for them at least. The men at the bar, already caught up in the raucous atmosphere, are a different story, but then they’re mere sailors to Silver and Flint’s command.

The Walrus needs new men, and what better place to pick them up than a pirate port?

At first glance, Silver can name ten places off the top of his head that look better than this tavern. But Flint is an intelligent man, and if they’re here then it’s for a reason, so Silver takes a closer look.

And he sees the connections between the men, the ones built only over long periods of time spent working together. It’s like there’s a map in the room with invisible lines dividing up different crews, and drifting between them all are the men looking to find ships for themselves. Not all of them are desirable of course, but Silver can spot a few who look promising; not too drunk or rowdy, having a good time without starting any fights.

Silver points them out to Flint, and the captain gives that little half grin he does whenever Silver has impressed/pleased him.

“Should I fetch them?”

But Flint shakes his head, leaning back in his chair with one knee bent, his boot resting on his opposite leg. “No, they’ll come to us.”

The ship-less men aren’t the only ones who approach.

Not even ten minutes into their casual perusal, a woman is sliding her way into Flint’s lap with a shot of something honey gold in her hand, sliding her arm around Flint’s neck and making herself quite at home against his chest. It forces Flint to change the way he’s sitting, both boots solidly on the floor again so that they don’t go tumbling off the chair together. The display makes Silver bristle, but before he has a chance to object Flint has pushed the whore abruptly off of his lap.

There’s a quick exchange of words that comes down to a dire warning and then the woman shrugs and makes her retreat. Not before trailing her hand down Silver’s arm though, and giving him a wink over her shoulder that he barely notices. He’s too preoccupied with the odd feeling blooming in his chest. Because there’s only one person allowed to warm Flint’s bed, and Silver certainly doesn’t wear a corset or a dress.

He’s maybe a little too proud of that fact he realizes. The bed warming part, not the corset, that’s fixed easily enough. Huh. Maybe he should even look into that.

After the brief distraction, captain and quartermaster talk to a couple of men who are interested in coming aboard. The condition is that they have to accept the articles already in place on The Walrus, and most seem amenable to that. They’ll find out in the morning which of the men decide to row out to the ship and which don’t.

Thirty minutes later, another whore plops themselves down in Flint’s lap, easy as you please. Only this one is…male. Silver’s eyes widen incredulously, contentment withering in his chest to make room for something darker.   

It’s not like it’s a secret or anything, men preferring men and all. Especially amongst pirates, who have less shame than most. But even in uncivilized ranks some things are just not made public, are not flaunted in front of other people.

Fuck even on the Walrus, Silver and Flint are fairly discrete about their particular relationship. And even if the entire crew knows about it, captain and quartermaster certainly don’t go around sitting in each other’s laps.

Tortuga, apparently, doesn’t care.

Silver finds himself watching the pair out of the corner of his eye. The whore is small and dainty looking, wearing a shirt that’s open down the front showing off sweet, smooth skin and plump little nipples. His hair is boyish and his expression coy as he curls himself in Flint’s lap like a cat.

Flint himself looks a little flummoxed, hands held up like he isn’t sure he wants to put them on the boy’s body. But much to Silver’s horror, he actually settles one on the whore’s thigh, squeezing it gently, and the other on the boy’s hip.

Silver wants to make a scene, but he’s frozen. It’s a direct contrast to the swirl of anger hot and molten in his gut, the strength surprising even to himself.

Their voices are a low murmuring that barely carries to where Silver is sitting a few feet away, and he grits his teeth in an attempt to stop himself from imaging exactly what they’re saying to each other.

He tries to reason that it shouldn’t bother him quite so much. He’d thought he and Flint had an understanding, a deal between them. But maybe not. Maybe he’s been laboring under false assumptions and their relationship is nothing but sweat and blood and pinning each other down to take what they need, what they want from the other’s body.

Either way, Silver knows that he can’t breathe, can’t hear anything past the rushing in his ears, until a few moments later when Flint sends the boy away.

Flint glances at him, and Silver can’t see him, won’t turn to look, but he can feel that appraising gaze on him. Probably taking in his stiff posture, his tight jaw and the gritted teeth. Slowly, he forces himself to unclench his fingers and his palms feel damp, though if it’s with sweat or if he cut the skin and is now bleeding he doesn’t know.

He takes a moment to calm his breathing, but then he’s gone. Weaving through the crowd of the tavern and out the front door before his captain can stop him, and headed straight for the beach. Where he really wants to be right now is on the comforting deck of his ship, but he doesn’t want to take the tiny boat the men rowed in on for two reasons. One, because rowing it back to the Walrus all by himself would be a pain, and two because he doesn’t want to strand his men here on land, even if Flint is with them.

So instead Silver settles for sitting on the beach. He gets close enough to the water that the higher waves lap some at his toes, but sits far enough away to keep mostly dry. The sand is cool and damp beneath him, the only light coming from the moon hanging in the sky thick and round bellied, and flickering lanterns from the town behind. It causes the beach to be mostly shadows, but Silver’s eyes adjust fairly quickly.

He’s not sure he understands exactly what just happened.

He’d thought that he and Flint had had an agreement, a contract of some kind. They were fucking, they obviously cared about each other, and those two things together typically equaled exclusive right? But maybe he was wrong. Silver had been wrong about how things worked amongst the pirates before. It wouldn’t do to feel cheated and jaded when he’d been the only one harboring grand ideals, but Silver stubbornly clings to the scorned feeling, at least for a few minutes. He’ll cast it away eventually, but for now he flops down on his back into the sand and stares at the starry sky, feeling like there’s a physical wound in his chest, ripped wide and bleeding sluggishly.

God, what a terrible emotion.

Belatedly, he remembers his hands, and brings them up in front of his face. There are four perfect crescent marks on each one, black under the moon light and very thin. But there’s no trace of dripping blood, so he obviously didn’t pierce the skin that deep.

Silver drops his hands to chest and listens to the faint sound of footsteps over sand. After a moment, Flint sits down next to him, not touching but close enough that Silver can feel the heat off of his body. He finds it completely unfair of the man.

Silver can tell that Flint is watching him, knows what those searching eyes look like even in the darkest of nights. Knows that eventually, Flint will speak.

“What the hell was that all about?”

Silver rolls his head to the side, transferring his gaze from the sky to his captain. Under the light of the full moon, Flint looks younger than ever, but also darker, meaner. Mysterious too, if Silver is being completely honest, but he doesn’t feel like awarding the man any pleasant descriptors right now.

“I wasn’t aware you were into children,” Silver responds, dry and straight to the point of the matter. He doesn’t feel like circling tonight, in the vain hope that one of them might eventually strike true.

Flint’s expression turns confused, then incredulous by increments, like he’s thinking back on the events that could have given Silver this impression. Like he doesn’t remember his hand sliding up a whisper slim thigh, the slight weight of a warm body in his lap.

“Are you talking about that whore?” Even his tone is incredulous, not angry but edging towards it.

Silver snorts. “I’m talking about that _boy_ you were so interested in.”

“I wasn’t interested in him,” Flint argues. He’s staring at Silver like his quartermaster is the one who has lost his mind.

With a long suffering sigh, Silver sits up. He doesn’t look at Flint as he slowly, painstakingly gets to his feet, not acknowledging the offered hand of help. The sand is hell on his fake leg because it constantly shifts under his weight, but there’s no way he’s allowing Flint that close right now.

Flint seems to realize this because he drops his hand with an aggrieved sigh, like he can’t believe how difficult Silver is being. He does stand up as well though, hovering a few steps behind Silver as he starts back up the beach.

After a moment of rolling waves, soft footsteps, and breathing in the night air, Silver finally reaches his rope’s end.

“Stop!” he yells, whirling on his captain.

Only, his boot slides out from under him instead of twisting the way he’d wanted it to. Flint swoops in quick enough to keep him from making a complete idiot of himself, but doesn’t manage to keep his pride from taking some damage.

They’re stuck in an awkward pose, Silver pitched back and to the side and Flint’s arms locked tight around his waist, pulling back to offset Silver’s downward momentum. He’s sure they look ridiculous, and maybe like they’re dancing, but he can’t find any amusement in it.

Silver pushes against Flint’s chest, trying to get his feet underneath him again. “Let go of me,” he demands, finding the sand tricky as his boot continues to slip.

At first it looks like Flint really is going to back off, but then something passes over his features and he seems to think better of it. Instead he tightens his grip on Silver, shifting his weight so that now Siler can’t push him off without falling. There’s no way for him to right himself without Flint backing off now, and it’s so obviously a calculated move that Silver can’t help his flare of anger.

“You’re going to talk to me,” Flint says steadily, and Silver wants to bare his teeth at him.

“What the fuck is there to talk about?” he practically spits back. He’s got his hands up between them, still pushing lightly at Flint’s chest in warning. There’s not much he can about their lower bodies though, and their hips are pressed tightly together, not helped by the way Flint continues to lean over him.

“Tell me why you’re so upset about this.”

“Besides the fact that you are apparently sexually attracted to young boys?”

“I’m not.” It’s not quite a snap, but Flint’s voice has dropped a little, becoming a growl. “I wanted him to tell his madam that if she kept sending whores our way, she’d regret it.”

 Silver just continues to glare up at him, his physical discomfort with their position steadily growing. Seriously, his back is starting to kill him. “Your hand was on his thigh.”

Flint raises an eyebrow, then lowers it and rolls his eyes. “I was threatening him,” he says, and now his tone just sounds exasperated.

There’s a retort on Silver’s tongue for that, and his lips fall open, but then Flint murmurs “Wait,” his brow furrowing, mouth tightening. “Are you jealous? Is that what this is all about?”

Instantly Silver feels his face start to go red. This is about more than just jealousy of course, but the way Flint is staring at him makes him feel like some kind of scorned maiden. He hates it, drags his hands against his face and then starts pushing at Flint’s chest ineffectively again.

“So what if I am?” His tone is defiant, inviting an argument.

So of course Flint doesn’t take the invitation, like the asshole he is. He’s staring down, at Silver’s hands, this little crease in his brow like he hadn’t noticed them before. “I was trying to make sure we weren’t bothered again, that’s all,” he says, but he’s obviously distracted. “I’m not interested in children, nor am I interested in propositioning someone who isn’t my partner.”

Partner.

The word makes something ease in Silver’s chest, a cool balm on a heated wound despite Flint’s distraction. If he thinks back, playing the scene in his head over again, he thinks he can see what Flint is talking about. An aggressive hold on a bothersome child, head bent low to hiss into his ear, the slight flinch of the whore away from Flint. It wasn’t what he’d seen at the time, but...he forces himself to take a breath and step back, to try and see the memory objectively.

Rather abruptly Flint finally backs off, arms unwinding from around Silver. He staggers a moment, trying to get his feet underneath himself and then huffs once he’s steady, feeling unbalanced not only physically but emotionally as well. There’s no time to put space between them though, Flint reaches out again almost immediately, snagging Silver’s wrist in one, big warm hand.

That furrow in his brow deepens as he gently manipulates Silver’s wrist until his palm is up and open. The four dark marks are still stark against his skin, and Flint’s thumb rubs over them idly.

Flint’s back is to the oncoming waves, the moon hanging luminous and silver just over his shoulder. It casts his face in shadow but when he raises his eyes to meet Silver’s they catch the weak light, making them shine even in the dark.

There’s no censure, no teasing in his tone when he says, “That upset, huh? I didn’t take you for the jealous type.”

Uncomfortable, Silver rolls his shoulders and looks away. “I didn’t think I was either,” he admits. But then again he’s never had…a partner. A lover. Whatever he and Flint are to each other. Silver’s never had someone be so important to him before and he’s only just now realizing the kind of power Flint can hold over him without even trying. “Where’re the men?”

It takes a moment, but eventually Flint allows the conversation to shift, dropping Silver’s wrist with one last caress to his palm. “Drunk and covered in whores,” he responds, voice turning dry and amused. Silver can’t help his snort of a laugh.

“Figures.”

There’s something thick between them, something emotional, but Silver isn’t sure he can handle it right this second. He starts walking down the beach instead, towards where they left the long boat. They can always row it again come morning.

Flint follows in silence, a mutual understanding passing between them that they’d both rather be on the Walrus right now.

They’re just starting to push the boat into the surf when Flint cracks. He makes this scoffing noise, and then laughs like he can’t help it. “Fucking jealous,” he says, and Silver’s eyes narrow. He can tell another attempt at changing the subject when he sees it, but this one is infinitely more masterful than his own. He lets it happen. They argue all the way back to the ship, up onto the deck, into the cabin, and through the sex they have with Silver riding his captain hard, unforgiving, like he’s staking a claim.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me prompts at my [tumblr](http://scribespirare.tumblr.com/) or just come yell at me about Black Sails and our wonderful, stupid boys.


End file.
